


A House of Cards

by silversparrow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversparrow/pseuds/silversparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall starts to forget them, little by little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A House of Cards

**Author's Note:**

> Another writing exercise when I hit a stump while working on something completely different, but I loved writing it to the point that I extended the length from 2k to 6k and I enjoyed how this little thing came out. My first fic in five months and it took me two days to write. Something needs to be done about this.

Niall looks through his drawers a third time, frustration pulsing in his fingertips as he throws articles of clothing to the floor, tearing through the fabric like a rabid animal until he gets to the bottom without the thing he set out to find. 

It’s a shirt, what he’s looking for, but it’s not just a regular shirt, it’s a very _special_ shirt because it’s Harry’s. Even more, it’s Harry’s favorite shirt. He’d borrowed it a few days ago when he thought he needed an update in his wardrobe and wanted something to give him a head start, so he went to Harry for advice and ended up walking out of his room with the shirt in his hands and a promise to give it back when he gets it washed.

He remembers clearly that he got all his clothes washed just yesterday, or else, he’d be walking around his room stark naked and he’d _really_ be needing to find that shirt among other things, and he recalls folding it in a neat square before putting it in with the rest of his shirts, intending to give it to him the next day. Which is today, and he’s getting very anxious looking for it all around his room like it’s doing its best to hide from him. Highly unlikely, sure, but he doesn’t want to rule it out just yet, not when it seems to have vanished from the face of the Earth in a matter of hours.

He huffs in disappointment and bends down to pick up his clothes from the floor, lifting each one with hopeful eyes before stuffing them back in his drawer with a sigh, a knot starting to form in his stomach. He’s been looking at it for an hour already, checking every corner, every crevice his eyes can find but it never turns up, just slips past his fingers and he thinks he might be losing his sanity over a stupid _shirt_ , but then again, it _is_ Harry’s shirt, and he promised him that he’d give it back.

He stands up and scratches his head, trying to see anywhere else he hadn’t checked yet, and he’s about to try and rummage in his closet again when he hears a knock on the door.

“Harry,” he says when he flings the door open, and Harry stands in front of him with a popsicle stuck in his mouth, another one in his hand with the wrapper still on. He holds it out to Niall, and it takes Niall a second to get his bearings and slide it from his fingers, his pulse quickening and sweat collecting in his forehead.

“Funny, I didn’t hear a tornado warning in the news today,” Harry says after taking a bite of the popsicle, and he steps inside the room and looks around the place with his big, green eyes. Niall watches him take a seat on his bed and he tries to ignore the hammering in his chest, and he responds with a half-hearted chuckle.

“Just—redecorating,” Niall replies, forcing a smile. Harry looks at him for a moment before chuckling and turning his attention back to his popsicle, and Niall unwraps the one in his hand and sticks it in his mouth without missing a beat, glad to find something to do with his hands.

“I need to do that too, my room’s a right mess.”

Niall chuckles around his popsicle and leans against his drawer. He feels awkward, which never really happens whenever he’s with Harry but all he can think about is losing his favorite shirt, and he knows that even though it might not matter _that_ much in the long run, he’ll still hate himself for losing something so important to Harry.

“Oh, that’s right,” Harry says after finishing his popsicle, remembering something, and Niall looks at him with inquiring eyes, beating back the redness crawling its way to his face. “Thanks for returning that shirt yesterday. I thought I’d lost it for a moment.”

At first, it doesn’t register in Niall’s mind, thinking that it’s actually a joke and he _really_ wants that shirt right now but the way Harry’s looking at him with gratitude’s making it hard to form a coherent thought. He tries to remember when he’d given it to him, not realizing that he’s looking at Harry with furrowed brows and confusion plastered on his face.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you remember?”

Then it hits Niall. He remembers walking up to Harry’s room and putting the shirt in the center of his bed because he was out shopping with Zayn, and he remembers the yellow sticky note he put on it with a simple _thanks mate_ written in blue ink.

All at once, the knot in his stomach disappears and his heartbeat starts simmering down, and he laughs at himself for being so _stupid_. How could he not remember?

“Of course I do,” he says, crumpling the wrapper in his hand. “I was just wondering why you didn’t invite me to go shopping with you lot.”

Niall smiles because it’s Harry’s turn to look guilty.  


  


-

  


_“Let’s try that again, Niall.”_

Niall catches his breath and looks around the room, watching the curious faces burning holes right through him.  
They’re rehearsing for a show they’re booked for the next day and they wanted to get a head start on their practice so they can get a good sleep in before show time, but somehow, Niall’s just not getting it.

The first time, he crashed against Louis during their transition and the second time, he caught Liam’s leg when he tried to move out of Zayn’s way. Just now, he’d forgotten his lines completely when it was his turn to sing and he sort of just stood there, mind blanking out for half a second but it’s enough to cost him the entire segment.

“Are you alright, mate?” Harry asks, placing his hand on his shoulder and Niall looks at him with hazy eyes, like he’d just woken up from a dream.

“I—I don’t—” Niall stammers, trying to figure out what exactly _is_ wrong with him, and Harry just stares at him, concern etched deeply in his eyes.

“Come on, Ni, we’ve done this about ten million times,” Louis chimes in, wiping his forehead with a towel. “Now’s not the time to mess it up.”

“I _know_ ,” Niall defends, turning away from Louis and facing the mirrors lining the wall. “I just—I don’t know what’s going on, okay?”

“He’s not attacking you, Ni,” Liam says, making his way to Niall slowly like he's a wounded animal and he wishes he could have just stopped and apologized earlier for messing up because now the whole thing’s escalating to the point that rehearsal may be cut short, and the last thing he wants is to screw the boys up more than he already has.

“I know—” Niall starts, turning to Liam with pleading eyes and wishing he can just disappear under the floor and stay there forever. “I know he’s not—Look, can we just start over? _Please?_ I’ll do it right this time.”

Liam backs down and Louis throws the towel over his shoulder, his expression hard to pinpoint but he can tell he’s not happy with Niall.

He can’t blame him, though, because right now, he’s not too thrilled about himself as well.  


  


-

  


Niall’s playing a game in his room when he starts to smell smoke.

It creeps up to him through the space around his door and at first, he dismisses it as Zayn smoking inside the house again despite the fact that they’ve told him a hundred times that if he has to smoke, he has to go outside, and he’s about to bring his focus back in his game when he realizes that it doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke.

It smells like burning smoke.

Not a second later, he hears Louis yelling out something that he can’t really hear, and he throws the controller on the bed and jumps to his feet in a flash, pushing out the door and running over to the kitchen when he sees the smoke billowing from around the corner.

There he finds Louis trying to putting out the fire in the pan by running it under the tap in the sink, creating even more smoke and he starts to hear the fire alarm beeping, a high-pitched sound that digs away at his eardrums and he walks past Louis and opens the window just above the sink, getting a plate from the cupboard and fanning the smoke outside.

“What happened?” he hears Liam say, and when Niall turns to look at him over his shoulder, he sees the rest of the boys gathered around the hall, Harry already running forward and following in Niall’s suit with another plate.

Niall’s not really sure what’s going on, doesn’t know who left the pan on the stove but he _does_ know that if it hadn’t been for Louis, that fire might have seriously damaged something in the house, if not burned down the whole thing.

“I’ll get the electric fan,” Zayn says, disappearing behind the corner and Liam walks over to Louis to inspect the damage. Niall looks over and sees the pan burnt beyond recognition, the carbonized remains of whatever it was being cooked now swirling down the sink drain, and he starts to feel uneasy. He looks over at Harry and mirrors his look of confusion before turning back to the sound of Louis dropping the pan in the sink.

“Does anybody know who left this on?” Louis asks them, and they all looked at each other with the same expression on their faces and it doesn’t help with the situation, just brings up more questions than answers, and Louis huffs and steps away from the sink. Their eyes follow him along the way and he turns back with furrowed brows, his eyes a mixture of anger and confusion. “Well, it wasn’t _me_.”

“If it wasn’t you, then who _was_ it?” Harry asks, placing the plate next to the pan and turning to face Louis completely. Niall just looks from person to person trying to figure it all out.

“Hold on,” Liam says all of a sudden, and he shifts his attention to Niall like he’d just done something wrong. “Didn’t you say you wanted to make bacon earlier?”

Niall feels something hard slamming against his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

“ _Me?_ “ he asks incredulously, taking a few steps back, trying to get away from the look of suspicion flashing in their eyes. He doesn’t know why they’re ganging up on him, like they’ve just decided that everything that goes wrong is immediately his fault and he doesn’t want to be the scapegoat, not when he knows in his bones that he didn’t do it.

“Niall?” Harry says warily, looking at him as though he’s a dangerous creature, ready to attack at any given moment, and Niall looks at him, desperation coating every inch of his body. “What’s going on, Ni?”

“It wasn’t me!” Niall defends, more harshly this time because he knows for a fact that he didn’t do it, he simply just _didn’t_ , and he wishes they would stop looking at him like he’s not even himself anymore. Harry steps beside Louis and Liam and Niall feels his stomach drop and his heart race.

“You said you wanted to make some for Harry,” Liam says steadily, not accusing or chastising but Niall doesn’t like how it sounds, makes him seem like he’s a nutcase who can’t tell the difference between right and left, but most of all, he doesn’t like the look on Harry’s face, almost like he’s looking at an entirely different person.

He tries to prepare an argument, to make them see that what they’re doing is _wrong_ and that he’s not the one to blame, but the problem is, he just can’t seem to _remember_.  


  


-

  


Hospitals never fail to make Niall feel uncomfortable.

It’s almost as if the whole place is designed to zero in on the fact that there’s something wrong with him, and if there’s not, it does its best to make him feel like there is. The white walls and the bright lights don’t help with his situation, making him feel jittery and anxious in his seat as the doctor tells them about the tests they’ve just performed.

There’s a lot of complicated medical terminology that he doesn’t understand, more like gibberish than anything else, but he doesn’t want to ask questions because everyone else seems to know what he’s talking about and Niall already feels like he’s been disconnected with everything, doesn’t need another reason to feel like he doesn’t belong.

He looks around as the doctor speaks, the sound hitting his eardrums but not clicking in his brain and it’s like there’s water clogging up his ears, just a constant droning that grates his nerves and the more he tries to figure out the words, the more he gets confused, and he can feel himself getting worked up because _look at me guys there’s nothing wrong with me_.

The doctor stops speaking and looks at Niall like he’s just asked a question, and the other boys all turn to him at once, eyes tipped with both concern and curiosity, and his heart starts to race, wondering why they’re looking at him like he has the answer to everything.

“Excuse me?” he asks, brows knitted in concentration, and the doctor lifts up his clipboard and points at a certain spot in the jumbled mess of computer ink and check marks, but Niall doesn’t have the slightest idea what he’s talking about.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at the doctor apologetically. “I really don’t understand what you’re saying.”

The doctor shakes his head with a frown and scribbles something on his clipboard, and when Niall turns to look at Harry, he feels his heart drop the moment he sees the tears collecting around his eyes.  


  


-

  


They start treating him differently after that and it’s odd. Very odd.

Liam becomes more hands on when it comes to him, feeling the need to take him everywhere and do everything for him and at first, Niall thinks it’s nice of him to worry, and he can’t really blame him because judging from their reactions to the doctor’s diagnosis, whatever Niall has is something that doesn’t go away in a few days. He goes along with it for a while, tries to pass it off as Liam’s fatherly instincts kicking in and he thinks Liam would be a great father one day, the one who takes his kids to the park every Sunday and gives them ice cream when they scrape their knees playing in the front yard. That’s good and all, and Niall appreciates all the attention, really, only it becomes too much too quickly and he starts to feel chained, like all of a sudden, he’s expected to be dependent, like he can’t do things for himself anymore, which makes him angry more than anything because he’s not a _baby_ , he can still walk or eat or go to the loo by himself without any problem. But he doesn’t say anything because it’s like Liam’s found a new purpose in life and the last thing he wants is to take that away from him.

Louis has a different approach. It’s not like he _avoids_ Niall, per se, still talks to him, still knows he’s _there_ , but it’s weird now, how he acts around him like he’s made of glass, like he’s about to shatter at any given moment and Niall doesn’t like it when he tiptoes around him like there’s charcoal burning underneath their feet, making him feel like he’s a danger to himself if he doesn’t hear the right things. But Louis is nicer now, nicer than he’s ever been, and Niall thinks it’s better that way because he’d rather be in Louis good side if he can help it.

Zayn’s attitude is like a mixture of Liam and Louis, both the good and the bad. Then again, he’s _always_ been like that, always been concerned but never overbearing, treats Niall like he wants to be treated, like a proper _adult_ , and Niall appreciates the fact that he never makes any comments about what he’s doing, just sort of lets him be himself around him, lets him run around and scrape his elbows once in a while because he’s only human and he’s not _perfect_ , which is what Niall really needs because the last time he checked, the house isn’t a hospital and he still has control over his own body.

Harry, though—well, Harry’s been more or less the same as he always has been, still pretty much in the same boat with Zayn about how to treat Niall, just lets him do whatever he pleases without slapping him on his hand whenever he does something wrong like Liam or excusing himself from the room when Niall’s memory starts acting up again like Louis, and Niall’s okay with that, okay with the fact that Harry still considers him as _Niall_ and not some diseased creature meant to be pitied and watched behind rusty metal bars. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, really, because Niall’s always liked Harry, liked him more than the other boys because he’s always been a genuinely good person, always concerned about his well-being but never trying to tell him what to do because they’re still just children in the grand scheme of things and they’re allowed to make mistakes, allowed to mess up sometimes and that’s just _fine_. But he’s also noticed that Harry’s somewhat more inclined to spend time with him, more than he had before, and at first, Niall doesn’t think much of it, shrugs it off as the byproduct of the diagnosis because despite the fact that he tries to get the whole thing out of his mind completely, he can’t ignore the fact that his condition left a big impression on all of them, leaving them to deal with it in their own, different ways. Then he starts noticing it and it becomes harder to disregard, especially when Harry offers to take him to movies or to Nando’s or just sitting in the living room and watching the telly while everyone else is sound asleep, but Niall, he doesn’t mind, _welcomes_ it even because whenever Harry looks at him with those green, green eyes, it always makes him feel like he’s the most important person in the entire world.  


  


-

  


Niall closes his eyes and softly counts to ten, focusing on the shapes his mouth makes and trying to see the letters running through his brain as he goes down the line.

_One. Two. Three._

He’s been at this for an hour now, meditating, and he’s not even sure if it’s _working_ , just seems like he’s saying the same things over and over again and expecting something different will happen but he’s run out of options, doesn’t know what else to do because he’s getting very anxious about it, the knot in his stomach twisting and turning like thorny barbs, and the more he tries, the more frustrated he gets, and he’s sick and tired of feeling frustrated, sick and tired of feeling like nothing he does will ever be enough.

_Four. Five Six._

But he tries again, and he tries and he tries because he doesn’t have a choice and he refuses to believe he’s reached the end of his limits, like he’s made it as far as he’ll ever get and he doesn’t want to believe it, wants to move past it and beyond and show everyone else that they’re completely and utterly _wrong_ , that they’ve been wrong this entire time, that he’s still the Niall he’s always been and nothing about him has changed, not a single, stupid _thing_.

_Seven. Eight. Nine._

It’s _there_ , he can feel it right there on the tip of his tongue and he tries to catch it, tries to tie the words to the melody swimming in his head and he looks for the words like his life depends on it but they slide right through his fingers like mist falling on his hands, and he tries and tries again because he’s _so close_ and he’s almost there, can almost taste the words forming around his mouth and he thinks this is it, thinks this is the moment he’s been waiting for.

_Ten._

But the moment he opens his eyes, the words vanish into thin air, like they were never there, and he screams in frustration because _what is happening to me_ , and he throws pillow after pillow at the walls like they’ll make everything better but they don’t, only makes him feel worse because they show him just how _helpless_ he is, and he pushes his palms against his eyes because he doesn’t want the tears to start falling.

All of a sudden, there’s a knock on his door and he looks up, wetness clinging around his eyes and he tries to wipe them off, tries his best to make it seem like there’s nothing wrong.

“Who is it?” he asks, masking his voice because he’s not weak, _refuses_ to be weak.

_“You alright, Ni?”_ he hears Harry say from the other side and he feels a sting in the center of his chest, his heart starting to race because the last person he wants to see him like this is standing right outside his door.

“I’m fine,” he says standing up and picking up the pillows from the floor. He’s just _fine_.

_“Can I come in?”_ Harry asks, and Niall wants more than anything to just send him back to his room and try to sleep it off because no matter how bad things might seem, they always get better in the morning, but he can’t bring himself to say no to Harry despite everything he’s feeling, can’t just turn him away because he’s having a bad night and he’s just _worried_ is all, he can’t really blame someone for being concerned.

So he opens the door and turns away before Harry can see him, and he walks back to his bed and sits on the edge, hands gripping the duvet, trying hard to collect himself because he doesn’t want Harry to see.

“I heard you just now, thought you might be in trouble,” Harry explains, taking the spot next to him and Niall looks down at his feet, tapping them on the floor because he doesn’t like the silence, just makes him think and he doesn’t want to think, not anymore.

“I’m okay,” he says simply, trying to convince himself more than Harry, but he can feel his heartbeat rumbling in his chest like it’s trying to break free, getting quicker and quicker and it’s getting harder to breathe, like his throat’s closing up and there’s ice water being poured in his lungs, and he starts to feel uncomfortable, his heart feeling like it’s about to explode, and before he can stop them, the tears begin to fall, his body wracked by sobs, big _painful_ sobs that send tremors down his tiny, frail body, shaking him down to his very core.

It’s the last thing he needs but it’s almost like a dam has broken through and everything comes crashing down at him all at once, crushing him under its weight and he tries to fight and fight but it doesn’t work, nothing seems to _work_ , no matter what he does, and he’s confused and frustrated and scared and ashamed because whatever it is, it’s not his fault, knows it in his very bones and he just wishes that everyone can see it, can see that he’s _trying_.

It takes him by surprise when he feels Harry take him in his arms, holding him tight like he’s afraid to let him go and he can feel Harry’s heartbeat on his chest, growing faster and faster until it’s matching his own and he just holds him there, face pressed into the crook of Niall’s neck and and he can feel the scratch of his stubble prickling his skin, large hands around his arms pulling him closer and closer until he’s safe and secure, and he pushes his face against the front of Harry’s shirt and cries into his collarbone, glad that he’s right there to keep him from breaking into a million tiny pieces.

But most of all, he’s thankful because Harry _understands_.  


  


-

  


Niall places the pan on the stove and turns on the gas, clicking the dial to _medium_ and turning on the exhaust fan right above. He rips open the package of bacon and separates five slices, two for Harry and the rest for him, and he curses to himself when he tears one of them in half. He decides to go along with it and just make six—they can share the broken piece, no big deal—and he turns back to the pan and hovers his hand over it to see if it’s hot enough. Satisfied, he places the the slices one by one and listens to the sizzle, watching the oil bubbles popping and bouncing around like tiny fireworks, and he’s just about to put the last piece in when he hears footsteps behind him.

_“Niall?”_ the voice says, and Niall turns to look over his shoulder and sees someone with messy brown hair and blue eyes staring at him, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, and Niall creases his forehead because he feels like he’s seen him before.

The boy looks back at him with the same expression, eyes darting from him to the pan then back to him, and Niall doesn’t have time to wonder what’s wrong because he remembers he has bacon cooking in the pan, and the last thing he wants to do is burn them to charcoal bits.

“Niall, you know you’re not supposed to be cooking anymore,” the boy says, and Niall thinks it’s odd, if not slightly ironic, because he’s not the stranger walking around in their kitchen and if there’s anybody who’s not supposed to be doing something, it’s _him_ being in their house.

“Why not?” he asks, clicking the stove off and walking over to the cupboard to take out a plate. “Who are you anyway? One of Zayn’s friends?” 

The boy makes a noise somewhere in between a gasp and a sigh and Niall turns back to him and sees the incredulous look on his face, like he’d just seen a ghost, and he has to wonder why the boy is so affected by the question.

_“Lou, you in here? I smell something delicious!”_

Harry’s voice beats him to the kitchen and Niall’s ears perk at the sound, darting his eyes over to the hallway and not a second later, he sees Harry emerging around the corner, scratching the back of the unruly mess of curls he calls his hair and forcing a yawn out of his throat.

“No, it’s just me,” Niall answers, sliding the bacon slices onto the plate and setting the pan back on the stove.  
“Well, someone’s here too but I don’t really know who he is.”

When Niall turns around with the plate of bacon, he sees the same look on Harry’s face, like he couldn’t believe what Niall just said, and Niall knits his brows because he’s confused by all the reaction he’s getting, like he’s doing something he shouldn’t.

Which is odd in itself because the only thing he’s doing is _cooking_ , for Christ’s sake.  


  


-

  


Niall doesn’t like the hospital.

He doesn’t like the white walls and the bright lights and the green hospital gown he’s forced to wear because it makes him feel trapped, like he’s a prisoner in a never-ending room of white and he doesn’t like being restrained, likes to spread his wings and _fly_.

He’s sitting on the bed and he picks at the covers, trying to avoid making eye contact with the doctor. He looks at the table next to his bed, and he traces out the bottles of pills lining the surface. He’s never really liked pills either, to be honest, always scared that they’ll get stuck in his throat no matter how much water he drinks. An odd fear, sure, but then again, he _is_ in a hospital, and everything’s always scarier when he’s in a hospital.

The doctor’s talking to Harry now, Harry nodding every once in a while and looking at Niall with a sympathetic smile now and then, and Niall studies his face, the line on the bridge of his nose, his furrowed brows, his pink lips, his green, green eyes, and Niall wonders how he got so lucky having someone that cares about him so much. But Harry’s always been a good guy, has always been there to look after Niall and he catches himself smiling like an idiot because he remembers when Harry held him in his room, remembers how good he felt snuggled in his arms, how he just _fit_.

The doctor’s done talking and he says he’ll be back in a few minutes, and Harry takes this time to sit next to Niall and ruffle his hair in that funny, familiar way.

“They’re going to keep you here for a few weeks to run some tests,” he says, focusing his eyes on the wall in front of them and Niall looks at his feet again, picking at his fingers, not really sure what to do with them. He thinks about why he’s there in the first place, why the boy named Louis insisted that he knows him but Niall knows himself better than _anyone_ and he knows that he’s never seen that boy in his life.

“I’ll be fine,” Niall says, looking at Harry from the corners of his eyes and Harry chuckles, linking his fingers in the space between his thighs and Niall can see a redness starting to form around his eyes, like he’d been rubbing them for the past ten minutes.

“I know you will,” he says with a smile, but Niall can hear his voice starting to crack. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and turns to Niall. “When you get back, I’ll take you out to Nando’s. How does that sound?”

Niall beams and his chest starts to swell up because he can’t remember the last time he had Nando’s, but even more importantly, can’t remember the last time he spent some time alone with Harry, and he can’t miss that for the world.

“You promise?”

Harry tries to keep his lips from trembling, but Niall sees.

“I promise.”  


  


-

  


Harry visits for the first time today, which sort of disappoints Niall because he’s been in the hospital for three weeks and he would have appreciated seeing his face sooner, considering how much he hates being in the hospital and Harry _knows_ that and the least he could have done was visit before now.

But maybe he’s being _too_ selfish because Harry has a life, too, a busy life, and though he can’t really remember what Harry did for a living, he knows that he loves it, loves it _a lot_. And he can’t really blame him because _maybe_ he’d tried to see him but couldn’t because it conflicted with his schedule, which suits Niall just fine, really, because the last thing he wants Harry to feel is obligation, and that’s not fair to him.

Harry comes in with a bouquet of flowers and Niall laughs because it makes him seem like he’s dying, but he appreciates the gesture and he’s always liked the smell of flowers.

“How you been?” Harry asks, putting the flowers in a vase on the table next to his bed and Niall scoots over so Harry can have some room to sit.

“I’ve been okay,” Niall says, and he watches Harry climbing onto the bed, trying his best to keep his shoes from touching the covers. He smiles. “I’m really happy you’re here.”

“I’m happy to see you,” Harry says back, that goofy grin finding its way to his face and Niall’s always liked his smile, likes the way his dimples poke themselves into his cheek and it never fails to make his heart flutter.

They talk for a while about anything and everything and Niall enjoys his company, enjoys it very much because he can’t remember the last time he’s laughed like this, can’t remember the last time he heard Harry’s jokes and they’re always so stupid and childish and if it were any other person, Niall would just scoff and tell him _I can do better than that_ , but when Harry says them, they become the funniest things in the world, and he’d much rather listen to a hundred million Harry jokes than spend another day in this hospital.

And he likes the way Harry smells, too, smells like lavender shampoo and sweet cologne and Niall feels it wrapping around his body like a blanket, and he wishes they can just be like this _forever_.

Harry’s visit comes to an end and Niall wishes he can stay longer, still has about a thousand things he has to say but Harry’s got to go, and he nods with a heavy heart and wraps his arms around Harry for a second longer, remembering how large his hands feel on his back and counting the heartbeats drumming against his chest.

He watches Harry pick up his stuff and leave the room without another word and Niall huffs in disappointment, an emptiness spreading across his stomach.

He lies back on the bed and shifts his eyes to the ceiling, tracing out geometric patterns and constellations on the white plaster when something in the corners of his eyes catches his attention.

He sits up and looks at the bouquet, and it doesn’t take him long to find the card stuck in between the roses and lilies.

It’s a small card, baby blue just like his eyes, and Niall laughs when he reads the words _“to my leprechaun”_ in Harry’s handwriting. When he opens it to read what’s inside, a picture falls out, and he picks it up and looks at it with a smile.

It’s him and Harry back at their house, Harry’s arm around his shoulders with the widest grin and Niall making a silly face, and Niall feels his heart swelling because he can’t wait until he can come back, can’t wait to spend more time with Harry, can’t wait until everything goes back to normal.

He turns over the picture and sees Harry’s writing again.

_Don’t forget me._

Niall chuckles.

Harry’s so silly.

Of course he won’t forget.  


  


-

  


Niall looks at the picture once again, trying hard to riddle it out.

It’s _him_ , there’s no doubt about that, making a silly face like always, but he’s not sure who the other boy is, the one sitting beside him with his arm around his shoulder, grinning as wide as he possibly can.

Maybe it’s one of his cousins, the ones so far removed, he can’t even remember their names, much less what they look like. Or maybe he’s a school friend, one of those friends that he sees passing the halls but doesn’t ever speak to again after school ends, but surely he’d remember him if he was.

He’s sure he’s never seen this boy before, and he shrugs and places it back in the drawer next to his bed where he found it.

Just then, the door opens and the nurse comes in. He likes that nurse. She always gives him the best candies. She’s very pretty, too, with a sweet voice, and Niall wonders what she sounds like when she sings.

“You have a visitor, Niall,” she says with a smile, and Niall’s confused because he never gets visitors. Might be his parents, which would make sense because he hasn’t seen them in—he can’t really remember the last time he’s seen them, but it’s been a long time, he’s sure of that.

The nurse excuses herself and someone else steps inside, head full of curls and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Niall can’t put his finger on it but he’s _seen_ him before, though he doesn’t really know where.

“Hey,” the boy says simply, walking forward with a smile. His eyes are green, bright green, just like the grass outside.

“Hello,” Niall says cordially, keeping his eyes at the boy. He’s very handsome and very tall. Niall wonders what he smells like.

The boy steps closer, hands gripping the bouquet so tightly, his knuckles are turning white.

“It’s me,” he says, keeping up the smile but Niall can see the corners of his lips starting to tremble. “Harry.”

Niall blinks a few times and studies the boy’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he says with a sympathetic smile, “but I don’t know who you are.”

He’s puzzled by the change in the boy’s expression.


End file.
